I was 18, standing at a crossroads in life. Unsure about what I wanted to do, questioning if photography was a path worth pursuing, and unsure what I wanted my life to look like career-wise. I had always loved taking photos and freezing moments in time. But I didn’t know if it was enough to build a future around.
Then, on December 23, 2021, my family got a call that would change everything. My cousin, Jake, had been in a motorcycle accident. I remember the shock, the disbelief. He was only 20. I spent those next 24 hours in a haze, holding onto hope, praying for a miracle. By the next day, December 24, Jake had passed, and everything felt different.
Growing up, my cousins had been a huge part of my life. Even though I usually only saw them once a year, the memories we shared—laughing, teasing, Thanksgiving traditions, summer adventures—were formative. Those moments are still some of the ones I hold closest to my heart, and they feel even more meaningful now.
Today, Jake would have been 25.
And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that he wouldn’t have lived these last few years quietly. Jake was the kind of person who pushed limits, not recklessly, but fearlessly. He lived with a sense of adventure that most people are too afraid to embrace. He was the one who would say yes first, figure it out later, and make sure everyone around him was coming along for the ride. He didn’t just exist, he experienced life.
He loved deeply. He laughed loudly. He created memories wherever he went. Whether it was the way he showed up for people, the energy he brought into a room, or the stories he left behind, Jake had a way of making life feel bigger, fuller, and more meaningful.
Since then, our family has carried a phrase that means everything to us: Live Like Jake.
To live like Jake means to live courageously and without limits. It means saying yes to the moments that scare you a little (like starting a business). It means chasing experiences and not waiting for the “perfect” time. It means working hard for the life you want, but loving even harder the people in front of you. It’s a reminder to be present, to take the trip, to hug tighter, to stay a little longer, and to never take a single moment for granted.
Jake is, and always will be, a model for how to live life. Not because of how long he was here, but because of how fully he lived. And in so many ways, his spirit is still with us. In the stories we tell, the memories we share, and the way we choose to live because of him. He lives on every time we say yes to something new, every time we love a little harder, every time we choose to be present.
That loss changed everything for me. Photography became more than something I just enjoyed, it became a lifeline. I realized that photos aren’t just pictures; they are memory, emotion, connection, love. They are the moments we hold onto, the moments that let us feel people and memories again in such a tangible way, even when they are no longer physically with us. For our entire family, sharing and soaking up the love from Jake through pictures is something that has brought so much comfort over time. I especially find myself coming back to the professional photos we had taken as a family a couple of years before he passed.
Since that time, my work in photography has been fueled by that understanding. I focus on the small, fleeting moments like the quiet laughter, the messy hair, the hugs that linger, the chaos of everyday life that somehow makes it perfect. Those are the moments I want to capture because I know how precious and meaningful they are.
But something else became really clear to me, too, something I wish everyone understood:
You don’t need the perfect outfit. You don’t need to be a certain size. You don’t need to wait until you feel more confident, more put together, or more “ready.”
And even if professional photos aren’t in the cards right now, take the photo anyway.
Hand your phone to a stranger. Set up a tripod. Ask your partner. Take the selfie. Get in the frame.
Because one day, those photos won’t be about how you looked. They’ll be about who was there. The love you shared. The season of life you were in.
You will never regret taking the photo. You will only ever regret not having it.
Loss has a way of changing how you see everything. It shifts your perspective. It makes you realize just how powerful our ability is to preserve people and moments, to hold onto something real, something tangible, something that lasts beyond a single day.
That’s why I don’t just want to take photos for myself, I want to build a business around this purpose. Every session I do is my way of giving families the gift of memory. I want them to be able to look at their photos years from now and feel the warmth, the love, the connection—the things that matter most. I want to help people preserve what’s irreplaceable.
Jake’s life is a gentle reminder of something we so easily forget: life isn’t guaranteed, which is exactly why it’s meant to be lived fully. To say yes more, to love more, and to hold onto the people and moments that matter.
Every photo I take is my way of honoring that. It’s my way of helping families hold onto each other, to freeze the laughter, the love, the connection before it becomes a memory. It’s a way to live like Jake. To embrace life fully, love deeply, and never miss the chance to capture what matters most.
Photography is not just a passion or a job, it’s a purpose. And it’s a purpose I will continue to build into a business that captures the love, joy, and connection that make life meaningful.
Because of Jake, I don’t just see moments differently, I value them differently. And that is something I will carry with me, always.
